


My Cup of Tea

by Kyss_31



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Auror Ron Weasley, Draco is a pastry chef?, Healer Draco Malfoy, Life After Hogwarts, M/M, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 01:41:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5724700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyss_31/pseuds/Kyss_31
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry returns to England after completing his Aurur training in South America.  All he really wants is to settle back into his simple, British life.  But there's a new pastry chef at his favorite teashop in Diagon Alley, non other than Draco Malfoy.  This is not the normal Harry was looking for upon returning home, but it might be what he needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Home Again

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a Piccadilly prompt: Describe your perfect cup of coffee or tea.

The _Rosa Lee Teashop_ was blissfully uncrowded.  It was technically still spring, but only just.  Hogwarts was still in session, Harry realized as he weaved through the haphazardly placed tables and mismatched chairs to his favorite spot beside the big bay windows that looked out on Diagon Alley.  It was also just past 4 o’clock - late for the common tea break from work, but early for the after-work crowd.  Only a few of the tables were occupied, and Harry was glad that no-one seemed to have laid claim to his favorite table during his absence from London.  

He sank into the cushioned armchair that he’d always favored, barely stifling a moan of content that wanted to escape him.  It had been too long - _far_ too long - since he’d last been to Miss Rosa’s.  Six months, actually.  Just before Christmas, he’d been portkeyed off to Peru, along with 5 other members of the senior Auror class, for their final training session.  They’d spent six months in the jungles of South America, hunting down vampires, pishtacos, and dark wizards who, for some reason none of them could fathom, still used blow darts dipped in poison.  Harry had come to realize that most wizards stuck to the maxim “if it’s not broke, don’t fix it.”  Poison darts had worked for thousands of years - why stop now?

Harry idly scratched at the spot on the back of his neck where he’d gotten tagged by a dart.  The poison’s effects had been abated easy enough by the potions of the healer who had accompanied the training group.  However, there was still a slight discoloration below his hairline.  It was usually well hidden beneath his unruly mop of black hair, but he still felt self-conscious about it.  Harry reminded himself that touching the mark only drew attention to it and quickly lowered his hand as Miss Rosa came bustling over to his table.

“Well, bless my stars!” Miss Rosa exclaimed, throwing her lace-laden arms out towards him.  “Our own Mr. Potter has come back to us!”

“Good to see you, Miss Rosa,” said Harry, getting to his feet.  He let the woman embrace him as tightly as she could, but considering she was only 4’6” and as thin as a pixie, she barely managed to wrinkle his black Aurur robes at the waist and didn't cause any damage to his internal organs, despite her best efforts.  Harry patted her back affectionately.  He didn’t mind Miss Rosa making a fuss over him, because he’d seen her treat all of her patrons the same way.  He wasn’t “Harry Potter, The Chosen One” when he was in Miss Rosa’s teashop - he was “Harry Potter, Chiroo’s black, with 2 sugars.”

Miss Rosa pulled away from him and looked up at his smiling face.  “It has been too long, my dear boy,” she said in a voice that seemed much too loud for her tiny frame.  “My best chicory tea has been sitting on the shelf, just a-waiting.”

Harry laughed and took his seat once more, ending up only just below Miss Rosa’s eye-level.  “I guess I’ll have to come by a little more often than I normally would over the summer to make up for it.”

Miss Rosa beamed at him and gave him a curt nod, as if she approved of his idea.  She then spun on her tiny heel and marched back towards the counter, calling over her shoulder, “Chiroo’s black, with 2 sugars, coming up.”  She paused to look back at him.  “And I’ll send my boy out with some scones, too, once they’re ready,” she added.  “You’ve not been eating enough - not if _I_ can fit my arms around yeh.”

Harry laughed again and settled back into the comfortable chair.  He’d missed Miss Rosa.  He’s missed a lot of things about England while he was away.

He let his eyes drift out the window to the familiar sights of Diagon Alley in mid-June.  A few people milled around the cobbled street, but it wasn’t the mad rush that had met him on his first trip here.  He nearly laughed aloud when he realized it had been almost 10 years already - almost half his life-time ago.  He had been a little sprat of just-turned-eleven and had no idea what the world would hold for him.

Though, now that he was back on familiar ground, he had to admit that even 6 months ago he hadn’t known what the world could hold - for him or anyone else.

It had been one thing to spend his late childhood and teen years fighting off the world’s most dangerous dark wizard.  It was proving to be quite another to spend his adult life facing down every single dark entity that threatened the world - both muggle and wizard alike.  

Monsters didn’t seem to care if a person was of magical blood or not - they just wanted to eat, and they needed to eat every single day.  Monster hunting wasn’t a matter of figuring out their next plan of attack and waiting months for them to make their move.  It was a matter of latching onto their trail and tracking them down to where they were at that very moment, because they very well might be trying to feed on someone _at that very moment_ , and someone had to stop them.  That someone usually turned out to be an Auror, and now Harry was one...or at least he would be after his graduation the following week.

He sighed and rubbed his palms against his eyes, dislodging his glasses for a moment.  This wasn’t why he had come here, he reminded himself.  He didn’t want to spend the afternoon thinking about all the things he’d faced down over the last 6 months.  That would just lead to him reminding himself of the ones that nearly got away, and the people they’d been too late to save.

He opened his eyes again and noticed a tea service had appeared in front of him.  The pot and cup didn’t match, or at least they didn’t anymore - the floral patterns were similar in shape but not color.  Harry had noticed a time or two, during his frequent visits to Miss Rosa's before going to South America, that the pots, cups and saucers had personalities all their own.  They’d often decide to swap places with each other, or alter their appearances a little, seemingly according to their own whims.  As he poured the dark, chicory liquid into the cup, he decided that the most likely story was that the cup was sticking with the original pattern the set had been printed with, and the pot had altered itself a little.  He didn’t think irises were supposed to be that particular shade of yellow - but he might have to check with Neville about that at some point.

He looked at the sickly-yellow splotches on the pot as he stirred the sugar into the tea.  He really hoped irises weren’t naturally that color.  It just looked wrong, somehow.

His hand flickered to the discolored patch on the back of his neck once more.  He’d made a mistake, shortly after they’d traveled from Peru to Bolivia.  He’d made a mistake and nearly paid with his life.  They’d gotten the little girl out in time, sure, but Harry had gotten lucky.  His fingers mapped the distance between where he knew the discolored spot was and the center of his spine - maybe an inch and a half.  If the dart had hit him along the spine, the healer wouldn’t have had time to administer the potion that saved him - he would have died instantly.  An inch and a half to the right and it wouldn’t have mattered that he’d saved the girl.

“Wow, I guess you’re starting a collection,” came a familiar voice from behind Harry.  The voice seemed so out of place that Harry wasn’t sure he could place it without seeing the face that it belonged to, but before he could turn around to look at the speaker the voice continued, “Guess one wasn’t enough for you.  Eh, Scarhead?”

Harry’s head finished spinning around so fast his neck popped.

“Malfoy?” he snapped, looking up at the pale, pointed face of the man towering over him.  “What are _you_ doing here?”

Draco Malfoy’s narrow face broadened as he grinned down at the shocked junior Auror.  He held out a porcelain plate containing several buttered scones and placed it beside Harry’s tea.  “Your scones, Sir,” he said with a snide smile and humor in his light-gray eyes.

Harry stared at the plate for several seconds, then he looked at the apron loosely tied around Draco’s narrow hips.  There were hints of flour and sugar on the simple, white fabric, and it smelled like spiced cake.

“You -?” Harry started and had to pause to shake his head.  “You _work_ here?”

Draco grinned even further.  “Best pastry chef Miss Rosa’s ever had,” he boasted, crossing his arms over his thin chest.  “She told me so, herself.”

“But -”  Again, Harry had to shake himself in order to finish the thought.  “ _Why?_ ” was the best he could come up with.

Draco laughed.  He actually laughed.  Not the smirky chuckle he’d favored during their school days after saying something degrading or hurtful about another student (usually Harry or one of his friends) but a normal laugh, like he was actually happy.

“Come, now, Potter,” he said with a shrug.  “Surely you’ve heard of the anti-prejudice laws that went into effect two years ago.  No one can be denied employment due to age, gender, race, sexual-orientation, or -” he paused to pull up the left sleeve of his chef’s coat to reveal the faded and shriveled remains of the Dark Mark on his forearm “- stupid decisions made by 16-year-olds under the pressure of their parents.”

Harry blinked.

He blinked again.

Something was not adding up.

Draco Malfoy was standing in front of him in a chef’s coat and apron, having served him scones that he appeared to have made himself, and he was actually making a _joke_ about his time as a Death Eater.

Harry looked at the scones on the table.  He looked up at the smile on Draco’s face.  Something definitely didn’t add up, but Harry wasn’t sure what that something was, and he was too tired and worn out from his recent trip to spend much time thinking about it.  He glanced at the watch on his wrist.  He’d portkeyed back to England just 1 ½ hours ago.  He’d had enough time to drop off his mission log at the Auror training facility and then leave his bags at the apartment he shared with Ron, who wasn’t due back from his mission in Australia until tomorrow, before deciding that he needed something particularly British to make himself feel like he was home again.  Now he was being faced by his school rival and bully who was smiling at him and offering him scones.

“You’re in far too good a mood,” Harry grumbled up at him before taking a warm scone from the plate and biting into it.  Once he’d swallowed the buttery, cinnamony pastry, he added, “And these are bloody delicious.”

Draco laughed again.  He bowed at the waist and turned to head back to the kitchen.

“Wait!” Harry called, or at least tried to, but his mouth was full of more pastry and the syllable came out a little muffled and unintelligible.  But Draco stopped and raised a pale eyebrow over his shoulder.  Harry took a sip of the sweet tea to help force down the pastry.  He coughed to make sure his throat was clear.  “You’re not going to tell me what you’re doing, working in a teashop?”

Draco chuckled and shrugged his shoulders.  “Have to pay the bills somehow,” he said.

Harry remembered that most of the Malfoy estate had been seized after the war.  The manor had been knocked down to its foundation during the search and seizure of all things related to Voldemort.  Lucius Malfoy would still be in Azkeban, of course, and what was left of Narcissa’s family was primarily in France.  Though neither Narcissa nor Draco had been given Azkeban sentences, they’d been forced to pay fines and placed on probation.  Harry realized that he had no idea what his former nemesis had been up to in the 3 years since the battle at Hogwarts.  Harry had spoken at Draco and Narcissa’s hearings, on their behalf, but hadn’t bothered to follow up with either of them to see what had become of them.

Feeling more than a little guilty, Harry said, “You seem to be doing all right, then?”  It came out as more of a question than an observation.

Draco nodded.  His smile almost faltered, but he pulled it together before anyone besides Harry could notice the shift in his eyes.  “I’m doing just fine, Potter...just fine.”  He turned and walked quickly away before Harry could call after him again.

Not that Harry would have.  He’d recognized the shadow in Draco’s eyes, even if it had been there for just a millisecond.  Yes, the former bully was piecing together a life for himself, but things were not all roses and sunshine in the world of the young Malfoy.  But Harry wasn’t exactly Draco’s friend, and he wasn’t about to push the man into talking about it.  He wasn’t even sure that he wanted to know what was going on with Draco.  After everything that had transpired between the two of them at Hogwarts, Harry had been content with the idea of never having to see him again.

But Harry had also come to realize in the last few years that the world was a lot bigger than just Hogwarts and Voldemort.  People were allowed to have problems that didn’t involve a dark wizard with a stupid vendetta and crappy parents.  If Harry could learn to see himself as something more than just “The Chosen One,” then maybe he could learn to see Draco as something more than just “Malfoy” - as in an actual human being?

Harry shook his head once more and turned his focus towards his tea and delicious scones and tried not to spend any more time thinking about the man who had made them.


	2. Tea Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry discovers that he is out of tea and has to make a run to Diagon Alley for more.

The parchment paper Aurors had to use for essay work was charmed to standardize the size of the handwriting.  It didn’t matter how tiny or large one tried to make their writing, the words always ended up the same size.  Hermione would have hated it, having to trim her naturally long-winded essays to the bare bones to make them fit.  Ron hated it because he could never think of anything to say for the last few inches...or feet.  

 

Of course, the final project for all graduating Auror trainees was a 20 foot long thesis on a topic of their own choosing.  They received the parchment scroll for this final paper at the midpoint in their training.  Hermione had suggested they write down a few ideas on the scroll right away so that it wouldn’t seem so daunting.  Harry had taken this advice, and now found himself, just 3 days from the due date of the thesis, with only a few inches left at the bottom of the scroll.  Ron still had 2 1/2 feet he needed to fill, so he was at Hermione’s apartment, begging her for help.

 

Hermione had decided against Auror training in favor of studying economics at the University of Wizardly Edification and Enlightenment (referred to as U-WEE or just Uni for short).  She’d finished the first three years of the program in only two and was already interning at the Ministry of Magic in the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures where she was making progress in her quest for house-elf equality.  But despite her focus being drawn to statistical analysis, she had somehow managed to learn more about “The Politics of Transfiguration” than Ron had after 3 years of studying cases of witches and wizards transfiguring items for nefarious purposes.

 

Harry could just picture the two of them sitting around Hermione’s large, plank-wood table (normally filled with books of her own interest, but she would have cleared it off for Ron).  Ron would have his head in his hands and a quill behind one ear, dripping ink onto his shoulder.  His eyes would be locked onto the blank section of the scroll as he willed words to appear before him.  Hermione would make him a cup of tea and sit calmly on the far side of the table, not letting herself get too close, as the 6 months they’d spent apart meant that they were both easily distracted by the other’s proximity.  

 

Harry was quite certain that the first two days after Ron got back from Australia, he had made absolutely no progress on his report simply because he was more concerned with showing his ‘Mione how much he’d missed her.  But now the deadline loomed before them and Hermione’s practicality would be kicking in.  She wouldn’t risk Ron failing Auror training at the last minute just because she’d missed him, too.

 

Harry sighed and he glanced at the empty chair on the opposite side of the dining table in his quiet apartment.  He felt a stab of jealousy, not for the first time, towards his best friends.  He knew how hard it had been for them to be apart for so long, but now they had each other to come home to again.  He missed that feeling.  He missed the feeling of being missed by someone.  Sure, Hermione had missed him while he was South America, but certainly not the way she’d missed Ron.  Nor should it have been the same way.  He was endlessly happy that his two best friends were so very much in love.  It had only taken them 7 years to figure it out, after all.  He just couldn’t help wishing there was someone in his world that he could be that happy with.

 

As he allowed himself a moment to wallow in the sadness of being alone, some of the horrors he’d seen in Peru and Bolivia tried to push themselves out of the recesses of his mind - families torn apart, lovers lost, children murdered in their sleep.  He shoved them away again as fast as they tried to pop up, but he knew there were enough memories to plague him for years if he let them.  So he got to his feet and looked for something to distract him.  His parchment on “The Side-Effects of Mental Aberration Curses” wasn’t going to work as a distraction, as most of the information he’d amassed for his thesis was from his experiences overseas.

 

He headed into the tiny kitchen, away from the memories that threatened to drag him into their gloom, and decided to make himself a cup of tea.  However, when he opened the cupboard, he found an empty space where his Chiroo tin was supposed to be.

 

Of course, he thought, closing his eyes in minor frustration, Hermione had owled him back in January to say that she’d cleared out any food he and Ron had left in their apartment.  Neither man had bothered to go to the market since they got back, either.  Breakfasts had been at their favorite cafe near the Auror training facility in the Richmond district of West London.  Lunches and afternoon tea were taken in the facility’s great hall.  Dinners had been at the Burrow each night, upon Molly’s insistence (and the fear of severe motherly admonishment if they refused).  In the three days since he’d arrived back in London, Harry hadn’t attempted to eat anything while in his apartment, until now.

 

He glanced at his watch and realized it was another 2 hours before he was expected to arrive at the Burrow for dinner.  He sighed and went to retrieve his cloak from the hall closet.  Even though they were a mere two weeks from the start of summer, and London was enjoying a balmy spring, it was much cooler than it had been in Bolivia just 4 days ago and Harry found himself getting chilled when he ventured outside.  He slipped into the black cloak and fastened a few of the gold buttons to hold it closed over his chest, then slipped his coin purse into one of the hidden pockets and apparated to Diagon Alley.

 

The street was busier than it had been a few days before.  It was 5 o’clock on a Friday, after all, and families were starting to prepare for their children to be released on summer vacation and all that it would entail - whether that be trips to the countryside, sleep-away camps, or remedial studies in summer-school, and the certainty that no clothes the child had started the school with were still fitting properly.

 

Harry weaved his way through the chattering crowd, nodding politely to those who greeted him, and made his way towards _ Bicorn Bethesda's Butchery. _  It was the only grocery store he’d found in London that sold both Chiroo Tea and Pumpkin Pasties - the only standards of his and Ron’s pantry.

 

He found himself having to duck up against the windows of the closest store as a large gaggle of witches with matching purple badges on their cloaks came bustling down the center of the alleyway.  Harry took a glance at the badge on one of the women as they passed and saw that it signified her as a member of the Pepperton Preparatory’s Parental Board.  

 

He’d heard about the various Wizarding primary schools from the Weasleys.  They’d all gone to one out in the country, before they were of age to attend Hogwarts.  Pepperton was supposed to be the best in London.  Hermione had already done loads of research on the local school system before deciding to get an apartment in the city.  When Ron found out, he’d gone redder than his hair and nearly passed out.  It took over a month for Hermione to assure him that she wasn’t intending for them to have children any time soon - she just wanted to be prepared for the possibility of children at some point in the future.  Harry found himself chuckling as the ladies of the Parental Board bustled past him, undoubtedly preparing for Pepperton’s summer programs - Ron would have certainly freaked if he’d seen them.

 

The quiet laugh quickly died in Harry’s throat as he turned to see what building he’d been pushed up against:  _ Quality Quidditch Supplies _ .  Normally it would have been a welcome sight to the youngest seeker Hogwarts had seen in over a century.  However, the window display featured a series of dark green robes with a golden talon emblazoned across the front, and a photo display of that season’s Holyhead Harpies starting line-up.  The sixth photo in the line was of a brilliantly smiling woman with flaming red hair that looked quite beautiful against her green uniform.

 

Harry felt a stone drop in his stomach as the miniature Ginny Weasley beamed up at him.  He hadn’t been surprised to hear from Molly that Ginny had made first string with the Harpies already.  He just wished that their career choices hadn’t pushed them in opposite directions so quickly.  

 

He frowned at the smiling photo.  

 

Two months.  That was all it had taken for Ginny to break up with him again (they’d broken up a few times during their final year at Hogwarts, after the battle, but had gotten back together once they’d graduated).  She had started her training in Holyhead, Wales, and he was training in London.  It wasn’t difficult for either of them to apparate over to the other when they had the chance - it had just been difficult to  _ find  _ the chance.  Their schedules during those early months of training had kept them both on the run.  

 

Harry frowned again, but this time he was focused on his own reflection in the glass window.  

 

He wasn’t being truthful with himself, and he knew it.  If he and Ginny had wanted to find the time, they could have.  

 

Ron and Hermione had found all kinds of time to be together, even though Ron’s schedule had been just as demanding as Harry’s and Hermione never left the Uni’s library except to attend class or speak to a professor.  (Honestly, how she managed to not starve herself those first two years could only be the work of one Molly Weasley and a series of well timed packages owled to the young woman throughout the day.)  

 

Despite the chaos the trio had found themselves in during that first year out of Hogwarts, Ron and Hermione had only grown closer together.  Harry and Ginny had quickly grown apart.  Now they had very separate lives and only seemed to run into each other at Weasley gatherings.  He’d last seen her a year ago, just after the Quidditch season ended and she’d come home for a weeklong visit during the summer.  She’d spent most of the week talking about her latest boyfriend (Benny Something-or-other) who was an announcer at one of the stadiums the Harpies had played in a few months before.  

 

Harry had missed meeting Benny at the Weasley Christmas party due to his overseas training starting the first week of December.  Hermione figured that the Auror facility set up the schedule that way to get the junior Aurors used to being pulled away from their families on holidays.  Neither Harry nor Ron had been pleased with this training tactic, but Molly and Arthur had put together a wonderful Pre-Christmas party at the end of November to send the boys on their way.

 

Now they were home.  Harry had heard that Ginny and Benny were broken up, but that didn’t seem to matter to him.  He shook his unruly hair out of his eyes and looked away from the window display.  It was never going to work with Ginny, he had known that for awhile.  He’d tried dating a time or two over the last few years - usually someone he met at the Auror facility, but hadn’t had much success there either.  He sighed and decided he needed that tea sooner rather than later and made a detour to Miss Rosa’s.

 

It was harder to find a table today, and his favorite chair was currently occupied by a tiny girl (maybe 3 or 4-years-old) in a bright blue robe with matching ribbons in her nutty brown hair.  Harry smiled at the little girl and settled in a slightly less padded, but still comfortable, chair closer to the counter.

 

Miss Rosa was at his side in an instant.

 

“Harry, my boy!” she cried, waiting for him to let her hug him.  “Always good to see you.  You’re looking better,” she added with a poke to his gut.

 

Harry tried not to flinch away from the poke.  He had certainly eaten better in the last few days than he had in the 6 months abroad, but he didn’t think it showed quite yet.

 

“I’d still like a scone with my tea,” he said as he retook his seat, “if that’s all right?”

 

“Absolutely, my ducky.”  Miss Rosa patted his cheek affectionately.  “I’ll have Susie bring you a ginger and blueberry.”

 

“Susie?” said Harry, glancing across the room towards the kitchen door, expecting a pale, peeky face to pop out at any moment.  “Isn’t Malfoy here?”

 

“No, no, my dear,” said Miss Rosa with a shrug, not changing her smile.  “He only works on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.”

 

“How come?  I thought he was supposed to be the ‘best pastry chef you’ve ever had’.”

 

“Oh he’s good,” she said with an earnest nod.  “But, this time of year, I can’t afford two full-time chefs.  I hired him on to help with the Valentine rush, just in a temporary capacity.  Spencer Slug - you know, from  _ Slug and Jiggers _ ? - recommended him to me.  Turned out the boy has a real knack for it, so I’ve kept him on part-time.  He works at the Apothecary on the other days.”

 

After dispelling her information, Miss Rosa bustled away, leaving Harry to ponder what she’d said.  So Draco was working two jobs these days, one of which involved baking.  The Apothecary shop made sense, Harry realized.  Malfoy hadn’t done well at potions just because Snape doted on him - he’d actually known what he was doing most of the time and seemed to enjoy it.  Or maybe he’d just enjoyed the fact that he could mistreat Harry and Snape wouldn’t do anything about it.

 

Harry tried not to roll his eyes at the memories and instead turned his focus to the pot of tea that had appeared before him and the delicately floral scent that emanated from the spout.  He poured the tea into his cup and added the sugar without another thought about the cheeky blond.  But when Susie deposited a plate of scones at his table, and they proved to be only half as good as the ones Draco had made, his thoughts slipped to his former school rival once more.

 

If the walk from the teashop to the Butchery had involved passing the Apothecary shop, Harry wouldn’t have been able to resist popping in to see what the pale, thin man was up to these days.  His curiosity was beginning to get the best of him, he knew.  Luckily (or maybe not so luckily, he wasn’t sure)  _ Slug & Jiggers _ was several shops further up the alley, and it was getting more crowded with the between-work-and-dinner crowd, and Harry had to get his shopping home and into the icebox before he could apparate to the Burrow.  So he made sure he had a good grip on the charmed bag from  _ Bicorn Bethesda’s _ that held about 2 weeks worth of groceries for him and Ron, and apparated within the apartment’s wards.


	3. Dinner at the Burrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry, Ron, and Hermione catch up in the Burrow's garden before dinner.

Harry arrived at the Burrow early but still a few minutes after Ron and Hermione, and was quickly snatched by his friends before Molly could so much as force him to eat two muffins and except a rather large mug of freshly made  _ Arthur Palmer _ .  It was like an Arnold Palmer, but made with a mix of iced chicory tea and pumpkin juice instead of lemonade.

 

“Dinner will be ready  _ promptly _ at 7:30!” Molly called after the trio as they headed into the garden behind the house.

 

Ron had his arm draped lightly over Hermione’s shoulders, and she was pressed against his side like she was meant to be there, and only there.  The two looked at ease as they settled beside each other on the bench seat beneath the giant oak.

 

“Make any progress on your transfiguration thesis?” Harry asked, gauging by the look on his friends’ faces that it would be all right to ask.

 

“I did!” Ron said brightly.  “I had a momentary breakthrough when Hermione made me re-read a case we covered in  _ Philosophy of Crime and Punishment _ back in year one.  Remember Dundelwald the Dog?”

 

Harry nodded quickly.  He and Ron had found some of the particulars of the case familiar and it had stuck in their minds.  “The Animagus who would get himself adopted from the pound.  He’d spend weeks sneaking the family’s valuables out of the house at night.  Once he’d gotten everything he wanted, he would ‘run away’ and start the whole thing over with another family.”

 

“Exactly.”  A flicker of anger crossed the ginger man’s face, turning his ears a bit red.  “So I added an entire chapter on Animagus regulation.  I’ve only got an inch of space left to fill!”  The pleased look that came over him quickly chased away the memories of a certain rat that had used the Weasley family as a hideout for so many years.

 

Harry beamed at his friend and tipped his mug of  _ Arthur Palmer _ towards him.  “I guess we’ll both be graduating next week after all,” he said with a slight smirk.

 

“Yes, you will,” said Hermione, her eyes locked onto her boyfriend’s pleased face.  “I didn’t doubt it for a moment.”

 

Ron grinned at the fierce look of pride in her eyes and quickly leaned down to capture a kiss.  Hermione pressed up against him more firmly and let her fingers trail up his chest and into his hair.

 

Harry found something at the other end of the garden to occupy his attention in a hurry.  In the four years since the battle at Hogwarts, he had gotten very good at disappearing when the two of them forgot he was there.  The only times he seemed to mind it were when it had been a few months since he’d been on a date himself.  

 

As he watched frogs sunning themselves along the bank of the pond, snatching up the evening bugs, Harry tried to remember the last time he’d actually been on a date.  It had definitely been before South America.

 

Halloween?

 

Yes, it had been that disastrous Halloween party when a group of the senior Auror trainees had broken into the Wimbledon stadium (unfortunately for tennis aficionados, the stadium is located less than a mile from the Auror training grounds).  The senior Wimbledon Halloween party was an annual event - a last hoorah before they were sent out on their training missions in December.  Harry shuddered - whether from the chill that was creeping into the late spring evening or from the memory he wasn’t entirely sure, but he took a guess.

 

“Oy!” Ron called out.  “You can come back now!  I promise to keep my lips to myself.”

 

Harry turned back towards his friends as Hermione giggled and curled up on the bench so she could rest her head on Ron’s shoulder.

 

“You’re looking serious,” she said when Harry rejoined them.  “Knut for your thoughts?”

 

Harry shook his head and frowned into the dregs of his drink.  “Just thinking about last Halloween.”

 

Ron shuddered so hard Hermione was nearly knocked off the bench.  “Merlin, Harry!  Why would you want to think about  _ that _ night ever again?”

 

Harry shrugged and leaned up against the trunk of the oak.  “It was the last time I had a date,” he said simply.

 

Ron shook his head and tsked his tongue in a manner eerily reminiscent of the Weasley matriarch.  “Harry, Harry, Harry,” he said.  “You need to get  _ la- _ ”

 

“Ronald!”  Hermione smacked him in the chest with a loud  _ thwup _ .

 

“Ow!”  Ron grimaced and tentatively rubbed at the spot where she’d hit him.  It would probably bruise if he didn’t put any murtlap on it.  “Only joking, ‘Mione!  Honest!”

 

She glared at him for a moment longer, then switched her glare to Harry, who was quick to hide the smirk on his face.

 

Harry cleared his throat and took a sip from his mug.  If he could have whistled while drinking, he would have.  Anything to get Hermione to stop glaring at him.

 

Ron settled back into the bench, warily eyeing his girlfriend as he draped his arm over the back of the seat, not sure if it was safe to touch her yet.

 

Hermione waited until the two young men had seemingly regained some sense of decorum before saying, “You never did tell me what happened that night.”

 

Ron shuddered again.  “Oh, it was  _ dreadful _ .”

 

“That’s when you broke up with the curse-breaker girl,” Hermione directed to Harry.  “Lanora, wasn’t it?”

 

Harry rolled his eyes and Ron groaned rather loudly.

 

“ _ She _ broke up with  _ me _ ,” said Harry, keeping his voice as even as possible - which wasn’t very even considering the flare of emotions that surged through him at the mention of her name.

 

“And she did it very,  _ very _ loudly,” Ron added, “in front of the  _ whooooole  _ class.”

 

Hermione gasped and sat up straight.  “She did  _ what _ ?”

 

Harry sighed and pushed away from the oak tree.  “Apparently,” he started, still trying to keep his voice even, “she doesn’t think bisexuals should date people of the opposite gender.”

 

Harry wasn’t certain, but he thought this might be the only time Hermione had looked utterly flabbergast.  She opened and closed her mouth several times, attempting to form a question.  The best she could come up with was a defeated, “What?”

 

“You remember Thomas Barton,” said Ron.  It wasn’t a question, but Hermione nodded anyway.  “He showed up at the party.”

 

“It’s common for the previous year’s graduates to poke their heads in and see what the next class is up to,” Harry said with a shrug.  He hadn’t been surprised to see his ex-boyfriend at the Halloween party, nor had he been upset about it.  He and Thomas had ended their relationship just before Thomas went on his senior mission, but they’d parted as friends.

 

“The junior Aurors just happened to show up when there was particularly good dance music playing -” said Ron.

 

“- and, naturally, he asked me to dance -”

 

“- which, of course, he accepted -”

 

“- which made Lanora rather pissed off.”

 

“Why?” Hermione cut into their verbal tennis match.

 

Ron slumped against the bench and exclaimed, “Because she’s a git who still believes ‘bi’ is code for ‘closeted gay’ and she thought Harry was using her as a  _ beard _ or something.”

 

Harry shrugged.  “It’s not like it would have worked with her anyway,” he grumbled before draining the last of his drink.

 

Hermione’s eyes rolled so far into the back of her head, she should have been able to see the dysfunctional factory that produced her curls.  “ _ Oh, honestly _ ,” she sighed.  “Some people are so  _ stupid _ !”

 

Harry smiled at the exasperated looks on his friends’ faces.  It hadn’t been the easiest thing in the world for him to tell them that he was bisexual.  He and Ginny were on a break during their last year at Hogwarts.  Harry was considering accepting a date with Justin Finch-Fletchley, who’d also returned to Hogwarts for an 8th year like many of the students from their grade who’d been displaced by the war.  Harry had ended up not going out with Justin, in the hopes that he and Ginny were going to work it out again, but he decided to tell his friends anyway.  Both Ron and Hermione had been instantly accepting and it had been a non-issue ever since.  Unfortunately, not everyone in the world was as progressive as his friends.  Harry had a strong suspicion that Voldemort would have gone after any and all homosexual pure-bloods, if he’d had the time to get around to it.

 

“She honestly broke up with you just because you’d dated a guy?” said Hermione, shaking her head in disbelief.

 

Ron tried to contain a sudden snicker of laughter.

 

“What?” said Harry.  “What could you possibly have found funny about her screaming in the middle of a tennis court that she couldn’t believe she’d been willing to touch my ‘faggot stick’.”  He added air quotes and pitched his voice high and shrill for the last words.

 

Hermione’s eyes popped open wide and Ron burst into a full belly laugh, until Hermione smacked him again.

 

“That is most certainly  _ not _ funny,” Hermione told him in her most authoritative voice - the one she’d used on them whenever she wanted them to not do something that would get them all into trouble.  Of course, it hadn’t worked when they were in their teens and pre-teens, and it didn’t work now that they were in their twenties.

 

“It kind of is,” Ron gasped out, shuddering between the pain in his chest and the desire to laugh again.

 

Harry felt the corners of his lips tweaking up in a bit of a smile.  He’d hardly been able to drag himself out of their apartment the past November, too embarrassed to be seen by anyone who’d been at the party, and  _ definitely _ not wanting to run into Lanora.  His only relief had come when mission teams were revealed at the end of the month and he found that she was being sent to Siberia, and her team consisted of out and proud Millie Bulstrode.  Harry’s team consisted of Seamus Finnigan (who had turned into quite the demolitions expert at Auror school) and 2 girls from Beauxbatons that Harry and Ron had become friends with during their shared classes.  

 

The two remaining members of his team, Harry hadn’t known well before, but they turned out to be rather friendly and made a point of  _ not  _ telling him how embarrassed for him they’d been at the party - which he greatly appreciated.  That had been the worst part of November really, Harry thought - even worse than finding himself next to Lanora in line for Dueling practice the very next week - just how everyone wanted him to know that they were sorry.  He would have rather they be rude or snide.  He was used to receiving insults and knew how to deal with them, but not pity.

 

But that had been a long time ago.  Harry had had a lifetime of experiences in South America that proved to be far more important than a bitter ex.  Besides, Lanora had given up her training in Siberia only halfway through January and dropped out of Auror school.  It was unlikely Harry would ever see her again.  Of course, he’d thought that about Draco Malfoy as well.

 

“Hey,” he said, turning to his friends, “have either of your run into Malfoy lately?”

 

“Malfoy?”  Ron stared up at him as if he’d sprouted a third ear in the middle of his forehead.  “Honestly, mate, what’s going on in that head of yours today?  Are you trying to think up  _ every _ git you’ve ever encountered, or just the worst?”

 

“I saw him at Uni once,” said Hermione.  “It was the end of year one - he was studying in the Healer Library.  I was looking for statistics on the effectiveness of potions brewed with certain ingredients that can only be retrieved from magical creatures using inhuman methods.”

 

“He’s studying to be a  _ Healer _ ?”  Ron’s voice broke in a way it hadn’t since he was 13.  “ _ Bloody hell! _ ”

 

Hermione shrugged off his disbelief. “He always had a pentient for potions,” she said. “And  _ no-one  _ knows more about hexes.”

 

“Inflicting them, not  _ curing _ them,” Ron countered.

 

“Oh, come now, Ron,” said Harry. “How many Slytherins have we met at Auror school - students and teachers? How many from Durmstrang?”

 

“But he was a bloody  _ Death Eater _ ! He had the Mark and everything!”

 

“Still does.” Harry remembered the shadow he saw in Malfoy’s eyes. “The remnant of a stupid decision he was pressured into making by his parents when he was 16.”

 

Ron stared, unblinking, at Harry for several seconds. Finally he said, flatly, “He poisoned me with Fire Whiskey.”

 

“Not intentionally,” Harry muttered, ducking his head.

 

Ron narrowed his eyes and leaned towards his dark-haired friend. “Why,” he said slowly, “would Lanora and Thomas make you think of Malfoy?”

 

Harry quickly shied away from what was known at school as “the burrowing weasel stare.” (Terrible name, true. But these are Aurors we’re talking about.) Ron had proven to have a knack for picking up on details most would overlook. It was a skill that had actually put him at the top of their class in detection and deduction. Their teachers had recommended him to the detective department in the Magical Law Enforcement Agency and he was scheduled to start the Monday after graduation. He would be searching crime scenes for trace evidence and interrogating suspects in no time.

 

Harry suddenly felt bad for anyone who found themselves on the wrong side of an interrogation table from the lanky red-head. His stare did indeed seem to be burrowing into Harry’s psyche. 

 

Ignoring the desire to burn red, for reasons he didn’t want to think about, Harry said in a way he hoped sounded nonchalant, “I saw him on Tuesday.  He works at Miss Rosa’s teashop.”

 

“Really?”  Hermione sounded intrigued.  “I’ve never seen him there.  I meet Parvati and Luna there almost every Sunday.”

 

“He only works Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays,” Harry remembered.  “The rest of the days, he works at  _ Slug & Jiggers _ .”

 

“Two jobs during the school year?” said Hermione.  “That’s not easy.”  She'd been keeping the books for  _Weasley Wizard Wheezes_  since Fred had passed as he had been the twin with the stronger business sense.  The part-time job had paid her part of the rent for the large apartment she shared with Parvati and Padma Patil and Fay Dunbar.

 

Ron shrugged.  “Maybe he’s dropped out.  Wouldn’t surprise me if he couldn’t afford Uni after the Ministry seized his family’s estate.  Andromeda told Mum that Narcissa moved back to the Black family estate in France.  Maybe he can’t make ends meet on his own.”

 

“Maybe he should get a roommate with an inheritance,” Harry said with snark.

 

Ron glared at him.  “I’ll be earning a paycheck soon enough,” he shot back.  “And since detectives make more than boring ol’  _ field agents _ , I’ll pay back my half of the rent from the last three years in no time.”

 

“Of course you will, sweetheart,” Hermione placated, patting his leg.

 

Harry smirked at his best friend.  “Mm-hmm,” he muttered, fiddling with his empty mug.

 

“ _ Do  _ **_none_ ** _ of you carry a watch? _ ” came a shriek from the house.

 

The trio spun around to see Molly Weasley in the doorway, fists balled against her spotless apron.

  
Harry took a quick glance at his watch and saw that it was 7:34.  He smiled a little to himself but kept his face straight when he looked up.  “Coming, Mrs. Weasley!”


	4. Breakfast Muffins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Ron head to Diagon Alley for breakfast. Ron decides that it's time for Harry and Draco to finally hook-up and he lets his best friend know exactly why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got a little long. But I hope you like it.

Harry was surprised to find Ron already up and at their dining table when Harry ambled out of his room at 7 the next morning, looking for a strong cup of tea. Harry was usually the first of the two to awake.  There had been many times, both at Hogwarts and at the Auror Academy, that Harry had been forced to physically remove Ron from bed so that he wouldn’t be late for class.  Though, such instances had been happening less and less frequently.  Even though they’d only been home from their missions for a few days, Ron was regularly waking earlier than he had before the mission.  Harry wondered if the redhead had finally grown out of sleeping in, or if, like Harry, the memories from the training mission entered his dreams in the wee hours of the morning.  Getting up before dawn was preferable to reliving the horrors Harry had witnessed in South America. 

The water in the kettle was still piping hot, so Harry quickly scooped chicory leaves into his steeping pot and added a dash of plain Tetley’s black for an added caffeine jolt.  He took the pot and his favorite Gryffindor cup to the dining table and sat down, careful to avoid the expanse of parchment that was draped across the wooden surface.

Ron was going over his thesis, line by line, correcting grammar and adjusting the vocabulary. He added a few words here and there, watching the lines shift down, slowly filling the last inch of the scroll.

Harry waited until the smell from his teapot was a delicious, dark floral before pouring it into his cup and adding sugar from the bowl they kept on a sideboard beneath the window.  He took a tentative sip, letting the warmth and caffeine spread through his system.

Once he reached the bottom of his first cup, Harry had to admit to himself that he was actually awake.  He sighed and picked up his own thesis scroll and pen from where he’d left them on the sideboard. He aimed his caffeine fueled brain at the start of his thesis and began working through it the same as Ron.

The two sat in silence, the scritch of their pens on the parchment the only sound in their small flat. It was an hour before either of them spoke. Ron had been staring at his thesis for a solid minute without moving. He lifted his head towards Harry and said, softly as if he didn’t want to scare the words, “I think I finished.”

Harry had filled the last bit of space on his scroll almost 10 minutes before, mostly because he’d found a section in his 2nd chapter that he’d left vague; once the thought was properly flushed out, he found that the scroll only had room for 3 more words.  He had been triple checking for errors but was actually confident that he’d caught them all.

A slow smile spread across Ron’s face, mirrored by Harry. Soon the friends found themselves grinning at each other until they had to accept the inevitable and burst out laughing. Ron extended his hand across the table and Harry griped it tightly, pumping his friend’s whole arm in triumph.

“This calls for a celebration!” Harry declared, letting his scroll roll itself up. He jumped out of his seat and flung open the pantry door.

He frowned.  He’d remembered to pick up tea, of course, but it appeared that he’d forgotten the Pumpkin Pasties.

Ron peared over Harry’s shoulder, easy as he was a good 4 inches taller than the stalky brunet.  He “hmmm”ed, unimpressed, then caught Harry’s eye. “Diagon Alley?” he suggested.

Harry agreed and the two rushed to their bedrooms to change from their pajamas to jeans and tees.  Harry stuck with a long sleeve t-shirt in bright green that looked good with his eyes but also kept him warm as he readjusted to London temperatures after being in the jungle. Ron favored a garish yellow muscle shirt that showed off his sinewy biceps, but looked terrible against his pale skin.  The lack of sleeves let him enjoy the warmth of the sun, though (it had been snowing in New Zealand when he and his team had portkeyed home earlier that week).

Harry laughed when he caught up with Ron in their “foyer” (a few square feet of space next to the front door that they never used but where they kept their cloaks and Ron had most of his shoes piled up in a heap).  “It’s a good thing you’ve already got a girlfriend, mate,” said Harry, plucking at the yellow fabric that looked a bit like a summer squash as it was going off.  “But, do me a favor - if someone attractive starts chatting me up, disappear, will ya?  I don’t want them blinded by your - uh -  _ personality _ .”

Ron cast a confused look down at his clothes.  “What?” he said, defensively.  “‘Mione likes it.”

Harry patted Ron on the shoulder, “Sure she does.”  He grabbed a lightweight, brown hoodie and his money bag.  “Ready?” he asked as Ron tucked his own money bag into his jean pocket.  Ron nodded and the two gripped wrists so they could apparate to Diagon Alley without ending up on opposite ends of the market.

They quickly agreed not to eat at The Leaky Cauldron and headed off down the alleyway, discussing the pros and cons of each of the cafes and pastry shops as they passed them.  They were intimately familiar with each shop by now, but had never had a clear favorite.  Harry was just about to suggest that they go to the cafe in Richmond, near the Auror Academy, when Ron suddenly got excited.

“That one,” he declared, pointing across the alley.

Harry didn’t have to look to know what he was pointing at; he knew exactly where they were.

“You want to have breakfast at the teashop?” he asked.  “Why?”

Ron didn’t answer, just gave Harry a satisfied smile and led the way through the Saturday morning crowd.

Harry’s favorite table was available, so the pair quickly claimed it and settled in.  Miss Rosa was taking orders a few tables away, but she greeted them with a beaming smile.

“I don’t think this place has much of a breakfast selection,” Harry was saying, but Ron was ignoring him.

“Oy!” Ron suddenly fake-whispered at someone across the room.  “Malfoy!”

Harry spun to look.  Sure enough, there was Draco placing a platter of croissants on a table, looking starkly pale against his chef whites.

Draco looked up at them and Ron waved, a rather amused smile stuck on his face.

“What are you doing?” Harry hissed under his breath.

Ron turned his grin to his best friend.  “I’m setting you up with your new boyfriend,” he replied.

Harry didn’t have time to get over the shock of that statement and respond before Draco was standing beside their table.

“Weasley,” Draco said cautiously.  “Been awhile.”  He glanced at Harry, who wouldn’t meet his eyes as he was too busy mentally crawling under the table.  “Can I interest either of you in some muffins?  Just came out of the oven!”

“That would be excellent!” Ron said brightly.  “Don’t you think, Harry?”  He nudged Harry’s foot with his own - well, kicked it rather hard, actually.

Harry jumped and began rubbing his shin.  “Uh, yeah,” he said, glancing up at Draco’s amused face.  “Sure.”

Draco looked back and forth between the two of them, even doing a meager impression of “the burrowing weasel stare” (Ron would have to give him a lot of pointers before he’d get it down).  Finally he shrugged and turned towards the kitchen.

The moment he was out of earshot, Harry kicked Ron under the table.

“Ow!”  His lanky legs rattled the table slightly as he twitched away from Harry’s blow.

“ _ What was that about? _ ” Harry hissed.  “What did you mean, ‘setting me up with my new boyfriend’?  I’m not interested in  _ Malfoy _ !”

Ron chuckled and rubbed his shin.  “Oh, I think you might be.”

“ _ What? _ ”

“Hello, my darling boys!” Miss Rosa interjected as her tiny frame appeared by their table.  As they exchanged pleasantries with their hostess and ordered their favorite teas, Harry kept a skeptical eye locked on his best friend.

Once she was gone, Ron laid both hands out on the table, suddenly looking pensive.

“I got to thinking last night,” he started slowly.

“Hermione will be pleased to hear,” Harry snarked, slumping back in his chair and crossing his arms.

Ron didn’t raise to the bait, but kept going.  “You’ve always had a thing for blond guys.”

“Have not!” Harry cut in.

Ron gave him his mother’s patented  _ I don’t believe you _ look and said, “Thomas and Jeremy from the academy, and Justin from Hogwarts -”

“Justin was a bottle blond,” Harry interrupted.  “That doesn’t count.”

“It does if he was blond when you were considering dating him.”

“Who makes up these rules?”  Harry threw his hands out, exasperated, and jostled the tea services that had just appeared on their table.

Ron smirked, but poured himself a cup before saying anything more.

“You defended him to me last night,” he said as he added a dash of cream to his cup.  “You haven’t seen the man in - what - 3 years? Hogwarts graduation? - and you automatically defended him.”

Harry shrugged, but stayed slumped in his chair, ignoring his tea.  “Didn’t seem like the total prat he’d been before the war.  And he  _ did _ come back to Hogwarts for 8th year - intentionally avoided us the entire time.  That kind of says something.  Doesn’t it?”

Ron gave an acquiescing nod.  “Yeah,” he admitted.  “I had to sleep on it to see it, but, yeah.  I suppose he could have turned into an actual human being since the war.”  He suddenly straightened up and clamped his mouth shut.

Harry peeked around the wing of his chair and saw that Draco was heading their way with a plate.  The muffins it held were huge and lightly steaming.

Draco placed the plate between the two men and gave them a questioning look.  “Will that be all?” he asked, though it didn’t sound like the question he actually wanted to say.

Ron looked up at the tall, lithe man carefully - not giving him his burrowing stare, but a look of consideration.  He picked up a marionberry muffin and said, “Hermione’s seen you at Uni,” before taking a bite.  “Hm, cheers mate - these are excellent!  You studying to be a Healer?”

Draco’s long arms wrapped across his chest - not like the boastful pose he’d shown to Harry earlier that week, but a protective stance.  “Yeeeessss?”  The word was drawn out into a cautious question.  He was clearly uncertain where the conversation was going, and didn’t seem to like it.  Harry wanted to say something to put him at ease, but he wasn’t sure himself what Ron was up to just yet.

Ron gave Draco a nod that appeared slightly approving.  “What area are you going to focus on?” he asked, taking another bite of the muffin.  “Father was treated in the Creature-Induced Injuries ward at St. Mungo’s awhile back, and we met some of the Healers from the Spell Damage ward where Professor Lockhart ended up when he obliviated himself.”

Both Harry and Draco narrowed their eyes at Ron, who was being far too cordial for either of their liking.

“Not sure,” said Draco, failing miserably at assessing the junior detective.  He gave up his skeptical glare and released a sigh of resignation.  “I have until Christmas to decide.  Specialized training begins in January.”

“How long is the Healing program?” Harry found himself asking.  Not that he was curious or anything.  Surely not.  He was just making polite conversation.  Or at least that’s what he told himself and quickly busied his hands by pouring his tea.

“Five years,” said Draco.  “The first three and a half years are for general courses.  Then six months of focused courses before a year of interning in your chosen field.”

Ron whistled.  “Cheers, mate.  That’s bloody intense.”  He indicated Harry with a tip of his head.  “Only took three years for the dunders at the Auror Academy to decide we were fit for duty.”

“Goes to show that all Aurors are cotton balls where their brains ought to be,” said Draco.  While the statement was similar in kind to the insults he would sling around at Hogwarts, it lacked the self-righteousness and malice Harry and Ron were used to from him.

Harry snorted slightly.  “I’m still going off the assumption that they printed my diploma the day I applied, just because I was ‘The Chosen One.’”

“That’s actually what your diploma says, mate,” said Ron, taking a second muffin from the plate.  “Not ‘Harry Potter,’ just ‘The Chosen One.’  I found it when I was in  _ Advanced Sleuthing _ .  Got an ‘Extraordinary’ mark for managing to break into the Auror Administration Office undetected.”

Draco’s head cocked to the side and he stared down at Ron in confusion.  Harry began to laugh.  Not only was his best friend excellent at catching people at their bullshit, he was also good at making them believe his.  Harry reminded himself to tell George that the twins’ influence on their younger brother was paying off.

Draco took his cue from Harry and chuckled as well.  “I best be getting back to the kitchens,” he said, letting his arms drop, along with the tension he’d been holding in his shoulders.  “I’ll see you around.”

After he left, Harry finally picked up one of the muffins - a spiced ginger, his favorite.  It was quite excellent and Harry wondered if maybe Draco should have gone into the restaurant business instead of medicine.  But, he supposed, the concepts of baking and mixing potions were fairly similar - both involved incorporating specific ingredients in just the right amounts and proper order, or they wouldn’t turn out right.  He didn’t feel all that surprised that Draco was so good at baking, but he was rather surprised that the former rich brat seemed to enjoy it so much.

Harry and Ron ate their muffins and drank their tea in silence for a few minutes.

As Ron poured his second cup from his pot he said, “So you gonna ask him out then?”

Harry spluttered and nearly spit out a bit of muffin. He coughed and drained his teacup before saying, “Pardon? Do what?”

“Ask him out, of course.”

Harry coughed again and leaned forward to stare down his best friend.  “ _ Why _ ,” he said sternly, “would you think I’d want to ask out  _ Malfoy _ ?” He tried not to snarl at Ron’s smirk. “It takes more than blond hair and a tight ass to-”

“So you  _ were _ checking out his ass!” Ron said in triumph.

Harry turned red and clamped his mouth shut. Had he checked out Draco’s ass? He might have noticed that Draco still had the same lithe frame he’d developed during their teen years. He might have even noted that Draco’s forearms showed wiry definition that probably translated to lean muscles in other parts of his body, too. As quickly as the thought crossed his mind, Harry shook himself to get rid of it. He was definitely  _ not _ thinking about other parts of Draco’s body.

He glanced at the very knowing, very pompous grin on Ron’s face.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, and poured himself another cup of tea.  He sipped in silence, ignoring the grinning fool on the other side of the table until he just couldn't any more.  “Fine!” he said.  “He’s attractive. But he’s still Malfoy.”

“Oh, you mean the guy who was forced into being a Death Eater by his parents but may very well have turned out to be a normal person despite it all? That Malfoy?”

Harry glared at the smarmy look the redhead was giving him.  “That’s not  _ exactly  _ what I said last night.”

“Close enough, mate,” Ron said with a shrug.

Harry glanced around the small cafe, looking for something he could use to convince Ron that he was wrong. All he saw was the same mismatched collection of tables, chairs and tea services that couldn’t decide what color they wanted to be.

“There’s just too much history there,” he finally said.  “We spent so much time fighting when we were kids -”

“So did me and ‘Mione. Look where we ended up!”

“But you knew you were in love with her in - what? - 5th year? 6th?”

“Fourth. And that's not the point.”

“What's your point?”

“If you didn’t like him, you wouldn’t’ve bothered fighting with him for so long.”

“ _ He _ was the one fighting with  _ me _ !”

“Then he obviously likes you back.”

Harry didn't know what to say to that, so he sat there with his mouth open and gaped. Ron smirked back.

“Figure all this out last night, did you?” Harry said, hoping he didn’t sound like a petulant child. The snide look Ron gave him, however, meant that he did.

“Some,” he said. “But I’ve known Malfoy was crushing on you back in 3rd year.”

“What? No he wasn't!”

“Then explain to me why he went after Buckbeak and took every opportunity to remind you that he could have died trying to impress you.”

“That's not what happened, Ron.”

“That's  _ exactly  _ what happened.”

“You're off your rocker, mate.”

“Hey, some people show love with sweets and flowers, others with insults and trying to get your friends fired.”

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but noticed a blond head appearing in his periphery and clamped his mouth back shut.  He watched Draco deliver a platter of tarts and finger cakes to a table of elderly witches who were tittering with one another.  Harry didn’t realize he was actually staring until Draco glanced their way.  

Harry tried to look away - at his cooling tea, out the window, at Ron - anywhere other than Draco Malfoy’s pearl-gray eyes and porcelain skin.  But a thought crossed his mind that forced him to hold Draco’s gaze.   _ Could Ron be right?  Could Malfoy actually have liked me? _

Draco seemed to realize that Harry was trying to work through a thought, and he didn’t turn away.  He slowly weaved his way between the tables, keeping his eyes on Harry, until the brunet was finally able to turn away.

“So what?” he snapped at Ron.  “Maybe he did have a crush on me when we were kids.  Maybe I do find him attractive.  Maybe he’s turned into an upright citizen and I can overlook any mistakes he made in the past.   _ Why _ are you pushing the issue?  What’s it to  _ you _ ?”

For the first time since they’d finished writing their thesis scrolls that morning, Ron’s smile faltered.  He pursed his lips and looked down at the lacy tablecloth, flicking a few crumbs off the fabric while he decided how to answer.

Ron sighed and slumped forward.  “You were screaming in your sleep, mate,” he said softly.  “Started around 4 this morning...and you did it yesterday morning as well.”

Harry hadn’t been prepared for the seemingly drastic change in subject, nor the revelation that the nightmares he’d been having weren’t as hidden as he’d been trying to keep them.

“Wh - what?”

Ron flicked his eyes up to check Harry’s face, but kept his head bowed.  “I know we’re not supposed to talk about it,” he started carefully, “but I also know that you can’t just pretend that what happened on your mission isn’t eating you up on the inside.”

A mix of anger and guilt washed out from Harry’s core, flushing his face and making his palms sweat.  “You seem to be doing just fine,” he said through gritted teeth.  “So what could you know about it.”

Ron slumped into his seat a little more and lifted his hands defensively.  “I don’t mean to suggest that I know what happened to you and your team, because I don’t.  But I know what happened to me and mine, and it wasn’t all Quidditch and pumpkin juice.  And if I look like I’m doing all right, it’s because I spent my entire first night home crying in ‘Mione’s lap.”

“You did what?”

Ron nodded and gave Harry a sheepish smile.  “I was just so overwhelmed.  You know?  After everything that happened in the last 6 months, to get home and see her - and she’s just as beautiful as when I left, and I was so happy to see her, and I knew I could never tell her what I’d seen - what I’d  _ done _ \- not that she would ever ask, of course.”  He paused his rambling to take a shuddering breath.  “When I went to give her a hug, I smelled her shampoo, or something, and it wasn’t her usual kind that smells like frankincense.  This one smelled like amber, and it reminded me of...well... _ something _ that happened over there - and I just started weeping - bawling like a tiny baby.  ‘Mione didn’t seem bothered.  She made me lay down and put my head in her lap, and she let me cry myself to sleep.”

Ron rolled his shoulders and sat up just a little.  Resolve was trickling back into his face.

“We can’t talk about it, but we’re allowed to let it out.”  He purposefully caught Harry’s eyes.  “We  _ have _ to let it out, mate - and the sooner the better.  Otherwise you end up screaming in the middle of the night and wake up your flatmate.”  He offered a ghost of a smile that quickly faded.

Harry looked down at the teacup before him.  The tea was only still warm because the cups were charmed to keep it so, but he couldn’t bring himself to take a sip.

“I don’t understand what that has to do with Malfoy,” he said dryly.

Ron shrugged one shoulder.  “He seems like a good fit for you.”

Harry looked up again, wrinkling his dark eyebrows in confusion and causing his faded lightning bolt scar to look even more squiggly than usual.

“You need someone who understands  _ why _ you’re screaming.  ‘Mione was in the war with us - she gets it.  And she understands why this job is important to me.”

“A lot of the Aurors we’re training with were in the war - and they know what we went through on the missions.  Why not encourage me to go after one of them?”

Ron was already shaking his head.  “They’re  _ too _ close to it, mate.  They have their own crap to deal with.  Much better to be with someone who gets it without having to live it too.”

Harry snorted.  “Seriously, mate.  Who comes up with these rules?”

“Fay got back from her mission the day before I did.”  The fourth roommate in Hermione’s flat, Fay Dunbar, had been in their year in Gryffindor, though she and Hermione hadn’t been exactly close back then.  Fay had joined the D.A. and fought against the Death Eaters, and she’d had to return to Hogwarts for an 8th year, like many of them, in order to finish the education that was disrupted from hiding out in the Room of Requirement with Neville and Seamus.  When Harry and Ron had run into her on their first day at the Auror Academy, they were far from surprised and quite pleased, and it had been Ron who suggested to Hermione that she and the Patil twins ask Fay to take the last room in their flat.  Though Fay hadn’t become the closest of friends over the past three years, the golden trio found that they appreciated her stoicism and drive, and they all thought her an asset to the next generation of Aurors.

“How’s she doing?” asked Harry, genuinely curious.  “I don’t think I saw her at the academy at all this past week.”

“She’s like you,” said Ron, pointedly, “pretending she’s fine with what she saw in the congo.  She and I had tea Thursday morning while ‘Mione, Parv and Padme got ready for work.  I had realized, when I woke up, that I felt loads better than I had any right to - and I knew it was because of ‘Mione.  But, when I saw Fay - saw the shadows that she was carrying around - I just didn’t know what to say to her, mate.  There wasn’t anything that I  _ could _ say, except that I knew how she felt.  And what good did that do her?  All she said back was, ‘yeah, I know you do.’  And of course she knows that I know how she feels because  _ she _ knows how  _ I _ feel.  But there wasn’t anything we could do for each other to get past it.   _ That’s _ why you need to be with a non-Auror.”

Harry hated to admit that what Ron was saying actually made some sense.  It wasn’t like the two best friends had shared anything about what happened on their missions over the last few days.  Part of that was because they weren’t allowed to discuss the cases, true.  But Harry had to admit to himself that he had held back on talking to Ron about South America because he didn’t want to burden his friend, whom he knew was trying to sort through whatever crap he’d picked up in Australia and New Zealand.  If he was going to unload, emotionally, it would have to be with someone who wasn’t already overburdened, but could still take it.  Harry hated to admit that Malfoy ( _ I really should start thinking of him as ‘Draco’ _ , Harry thought) had potential to fit the bill.

“Okay,” Harry said slowly.  “But why do I have to ask him out?  Why can’t I just track down a friend, like Neville, or George maybe, and talk to  _ them _ ?  Why does it have to be a romantic kind of thing.”

“Well,” said Ron, his grin slowly reappearing, “I wasn’t joking last night when I told you that you need to get laid.”

Harry rolled his eyes and finally took another sip of his tea.

Ron’s smile disappeared again.  “You’re nightmares,” he started, cautiously, “they have something to do with whatever gave you that mark on the back of your neck.  Yeah?”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because you haven’t stopped touching it since I told you I heard you scream.”

Harry snatched his hand from the back of his neck where he’d been lazily tracing the patch of discolored skin.  There actually wasn’t anything to feel on the mark - texturally, it blended into the surrounding skin as if nothing had happened to it.  But Harry knew exactly where it was, how big it was, and what it looked like. He had been absentmindedly mapping it with his fingertips for the past 10 minutes and hadn’t even noticed.

Harry clutched his hands in his lap and didn’t look up.  He could actually hear the understanding in Ron’s nod from the other side of the table.

“Like I said,” said Ron, “you  _ need _ to let it out.”

The two men finished off their tea in silence.  Harry was lost in his own thoughts, and Ron was letting him try to find himself again.


End file.
